


Shadow of the Tower

by SwoodMaxProductions



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fainting, Friendship, Gen, Head pats, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Ikana, Insomnia, Last of His Kind, Majora's Mask, Old Friends, Platonic Cuddling, Sheikah, Sheikah Culture, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepy Cuddles, Stress, Survivor Guilt, Termina - Freeform, The Poe Collector is the Man Who Could See the Truth, The Salesman is the last of the Ancient Ones, Unconscious, Unconsciousness, Whump, cuddly poes, fainting from exhaustion, ghost character, headcanons ahoy, losing consciousness, much-needed comfort, physical limits, the Stone Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwoodMaxProductions/pseuds/SwoodMaxProductions
Summary: On the run from the murderous plans of the cult of the Fierce Deity, the Happy Mask Salesman hides away in his ill-fated homeland of Ikana after days without rest. Unable to sleep from the horrors of the past, and unable to go on from sheer exhaustion, the poor man is quickly unraveling...And then he gets a much-needed visit from a kind old friend.





	Shadow of the Tower

Ikana Valley. He'd have to spend the night in Ikana Valley. It had been nearly forty hours since he had stopped to rest, and by now, after almost four solid days of hunting for-- and being hunted by-- elite Fierce Deity priests, his literally superhuman stamina was rapidly running out. The cultists would be slowed by the undead, and besides, he could barely stand, let alone escape to Clock Town. But it was Ikana. The wandering spirits and shambling hordes of Gibdos hadn't been much to fear for him in centuries, but it wasn't the legions of the cursed that the Happy Mask Salesman dreaded so deeply. It was the curse itself.

He'd been forced to pitch his pocket-dimension-containing tent in a small alcove among the cliffs, and just the location made him restless. And right now, the Salesman couldn't afford to be restless. But it was there. It was always there, he'd ended up right in its baleful shadow, and though there weren't windows to the exterior of the tent, he knew it was there. He could feel it, almost as if it were watching him. The Plaguespire. The Ancients' Blasphemy. The Stone Tower. It loomed overhead, accusingly, a monolithic reminder that the forces of concentrated evil that made Ikana a hellish wasteland ran in his veins.

He had been pacing back and forth, opening and closing an Oocca puzzle box for two hours. It was an unbearable state of limbo-- unable to fall asleep, and unable to fully awaken. 

“Sir.”

The puzzle box clattered to the floor and the Salesman leapt backward with a startled yelp. Standing in the doorway was the ragged figure of an old friend. He shuffled into the room, leaning heavily on his walking stick, keeping his single red eye fixed on the Salesman. Beneath the tattered layers of robes and cloak, the chain that held his own Sheikah funerary medallion around his neck glinted dully as he approached.

“M-Mynos, what… What are you doing here?!”

“Checkin’ on you,” he said simply, looking the Salesman in the eyes with concern.

“You look like hell, Salesman.” His rasping voice came softer this time. Gentler.

“I… I can't sleep.” The merchant’s voice cracked, failing to hold back tears of exhaustion, desperation, and shame.

Mynos was shocked. The Happy Mask Salesman, the God of the Godless, the Last Ancient… He looked so vulnerable. And that scared him. The ghostly Sheikah laid a calloused hand on the breaking sorcerer’s shoulder.

“Hey. Salesman. Lookit me.”

The little Ancient One brought his head up and stared at Mynos. Those EYES. Dear Hylia. The man had seen his entire race hunted like animals until he was the only one left. He'd watched history glorify his would-be killers and demonize his people. And he'd spent hundreds of years desperately containing one of the most infamous eldritch artifacts in Termina’s history. 

“C’mere.”

He pulled the Salesman close and hugged him. Almost immediately, the poor man fell slack against him. He shivered, making the most heartbreaking little noise Mynos had ever heard.

“Sir, you're gonna sit your ass down an’ go the hell to sleep.”

Mynos half-dragged the Salesman to a nearby sofa and sat down with him, the Salesman’s head resting on his lap. The smaller man had just enough energy left in him to curl up into a shivering purple ball before his exhausted body clawed its way to sleep. A stray Poe that Mynos could've sworn didn't follow him in drifted over curiously before happily curling up with the Salesman. 

The little merchant’s breathing soon evened out, and, sure now that his smaller friend had finally succumbed to desperately-needed sleep, Mynos gave his childhood friend (and the Poe he’d fallen asleep hugging) a gentle pat on the head. He closed his one remaining eye and smiled, beginning to drift off himself. The Salesman had barely been able to form a coherent sentence, he thought to himself. The poor man didn't deserve this. 

But that trust, that trust he'd had as he let himself pass out… It was enough to leave even a curmudgeonly old undead man like Mynos feeling warm and fuzzy. And besides, Mynos thought as he fell asleep, the Salesman didn't need to speak.

After all, Mynos could read minds.


End file.
